


No Burden is He to Bear

by tmn1966



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Insomnia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-07
Updated: 2012-02-07
Packaged: 2017-10-30 18:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/334760
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tmn1966/pseuds/tmn1966
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Jess/Madison/John's death, Sam has a bad case of self-induced insomnia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Burden is He to Bear

**Author's Note:**

> For the OhSam fic challenge and from the prompt by romantiscue (full prompt [here](http://ohsam.livejournal.com/340216.html?thread=2157304#t2157304).)
> 
> Warnings/Spoilers: Up through and including 2.18 (Hollywood Babylon)

 

Sam had loved only a handful of people in his life. Seriously, he didn’t need more than one hand to tick them off, one by one. There were exactly two left. Six weeks ago there might have been another one he could have added to that list. She was smart and beautiful, funny and even having only known him for barely a day, wouldn’t let him get away with shit. He could have loved her.   
  
But she was a werewolf.   
  
And he’d had to kill her.  
  
He couldn’t sleep. And it was best that he didn’t. There was too much fucked up shit in his mind and he knew it was going to show up in his dreams. In college, he learned plenty of tricks to stay awake – sugar-free gum, energy drinks, coffee, a jog around the block, eating low carb meals, interesting research. All of the above. He was taking short naps here and there, faking it the rest of the time. He'd have to analyze his methods soon, his body was already adapting to most of it, but for now it did the trick.  
  
Sam was being careful. He had a watchful older brother and a job to do, after all. It was okay. It was.  
  


~o0o~

  
  
It was a clusterfuck. At least that was Dean's opinion. Sammy kept insisting that he was onto something, but every road his research led them down was just another dead end. It was frustrating them both and they were snapping at each other a little more than usual and Dean was going to call Bobby for some backup if they didn’t break the case in the next day or two.  
  
They’d been on the same job for five days now and after their initial investigative work of the latest crime scene and interviewing a few witnesses, Sam went into research mode. There was no connection to the five victims that they could find – except in the way they died – and they had already salted and burned two corpses that had looked like good candidates. But each day brought a new victim, someone they couldn’t save.  
  
Dean was going out of his mind. It was some kind of spirit, the EMF told them that the very first fucking day and it should’ve been easy. Sam finally kicked Dean out of the room on the fifth evening, telling him to go have a few drinks or get laid. Not being one to turn down an opportunity, Dean was off to do exactly that, whichever one presented itself first was okay with him.  
  
Surveying the little shithole bar once he entered, Dean thought it looked like a good bet drinking was going to be the vice of the evening. There were some couples there, but the women that weren’t paired up didn’t really look like his speed and it wasn’t like he was desperate for it anyway. The memories of Tara Benchley were only a few weeks old, so nothing he couldn’t take care of himself for a while.  
  
There were only a couple of people sitting at the bar, so Dean claimed a stool for himself and grinned as soon as the petite brunette bartender made her way over to him. Now _she_ could be worth his time.  
  
Two hours later and Dean was infatuated. Kimberly was sexy and funny, and a hell of a flirt. She reminded him a little bit of Jo and Ellen mixed together and he absolutely wasn’t going to be taking that thought any further. Kimberly was his kind of chick and if she was game for a little after hour’s action, he was definitely putting in the time.   
  
Finally, he got the green light when she told him she got off at two and promptly cut him off from the hard stuff and set a beer down in front of him.  
  
As Kimberly headed toward the opposite end of the bar to take care of some customers, he dug out his phone. True, Sam was the one who told him to get out of hair, but Dean wasn’t the older brother for nothing.  
  
Sam wasn’t talking about Madison and God knew Dean wasn’t going to push him, so he just kept an eye out. There had been some nightmares at first, something Dean had expected and was prepared for, but things had pretty much evened out once they’d left Hollywood.  
  
“Hey, Sammy,” Dean said once his brother answered the phone.  
  
“What’s up?” Sam asked, sounding sleepy.  
  
“Dude, did I wake you?” Dean checked his watch. It was only a little after ten. Sam usually was good until at least midnight or later.  
  
“Nah, man, just this fucking case. I’ve been going over our notes from the interviews we’ve done and–”  
  
“Yeah, got it,” Dean cut him off, not really interested in a rehashing of what they already knew. “Look, there’s this smokin’ hot bartender. Kimberly.”  
  
“What? You want the room or something?” Sam said it like he was sucking on some those Sour Patch Kids he used to like as a kid.  
  
Dean smirked. Getting his brother riled up never got old. “I haven’t needed you to vacate the room in a long time, Sam. There are other places to go than to kick your sorry ass out of a motel room.”  
  
“So… there a reason I needed to know there’s a hot bartender named Kimberly?”  
  
“Just wanted to let you know she doesn’t get off until late so I probably won’t be back tonight.”  
  
Sam gave the ‘I have a moron for a brother’ sigh and Dean was sure an eye roll went along with it. “Dude, I’m not twelve. I don’t care where you spend the night. Have fun. See you tomorrow.”  
  
“Get some beauty rest there, princess, sounds like you need it.”  
  
“Jerk,” Sam muttered.  
  
“Bitch,” Dean managed to get out before his brother hung up on him.  
  
He was still smiling when Kimberly came back to his end of the bar for another round of flirting and it felt good just to concentrate on a beautiful woman and the prospect of getting between her legs later. He wasn’t happy that they still hadn’t found the spirit, but at least he could get rid of some of the tension that had been coiling in the pit of his stomach for the past few days.  
  
As he was waiting for Kimberly, he struck up a conversation with an old-timer named Gus who had sat down beside him. He seemed like a decent sort, had some stories to tell, and didn’t mind listening to some of Dean’s. When Kimberly called last round, Gus motioned her over.  
  
“Another beer for me and my friend here,” Gus said, laying his money out. He heaved a sigh and tapped the empty place beside him. “Set one up for ole Jacob. Promised I’d raise a glass to him.”  
  
“Gus, honey, I’m not taking your money. Not for the likes of him,” she said quietly, her eyes going to the empty stool.  
  
“Think I can lay out a little bit of money for Jake one last time,” Gus said with a sad smile.  
  
Dean didn’t have to guess that the extra drink was for someone recently deceased, but Kimberly’s reluctance to honor it seemed out of place and it was triggering Dean’s instincts. He couldn’t remember a Jacob being on the obit list that Sam had compiled and then combed through together.  
  
When Kimberly provided them each with a beer, even one for ‘ole Jacob’, Gus raised his. “To fallen friends.”  
  
Dean raised his bottle as well, echoing the man’s words. After he took a swallow, he turned to look at Gus. “Sorry for your loss.”  
  
Gus gave a half shrug. “Wasn’t really a friend anymore, not for a long time now. Jacob was a mean fucker. Angriest person I knew. Only got worse as the years went by. Hope he’s somewhere he finally gets to be happy.”  
  
“Shame, having to live your life being angry,” Dean said casually.  
  
“Not that he didn’t have a right. Man lost everything, wife and kids, back when we were only in our thirties. Jacob… he just folded in on himself. Went to work and came home, hardly ever went out. Never remarried. Just sat in that house all alone.”  
  
“He kept that place immaculate,” Kimberly said, leaning her palms against the bar. “Yard, too. He’d cuss up a blue streak if you even stepped a toe into the grass. Threatened more than one person with a shotgun for doing so. Don’t know how many paper delivery boys he scared off before the Gazette finally refused to deliver to him at all.”  
  
Gus chuckled. “Yeah, ran more than a few mailmen off. But, that was Cora’s pride and joy, that house. He kept it for her.”  
  
“Well, that’s nice and all, but what was the point if he was the only one there to enjoy it,” Kimberly said before grabbing a rag to wipe down the bar.  
  
“He had a broken heart,” Gus said softly. “That’ll fuck you up faster than anything else in this world.”  
  
Dean held up his bottle again. “Well, here’s to Jacob.”  
  
“To Jake Turner,” Gus joined in, knocking his bottle into Dean’s.  
  
Dean drank the rest of his beer, threw a ridiculously large tip onto the bar and clapped the old man on the back. “Thanks for beer, Gus. It was nice talking with you.” He didn’t really want to have to say the next part, but there was no help for it and looked over to the gorgeous young lady. “Kimberly, I’m really sorry, sweetheart, but there’s something I have to do right now. Rain check?”  
  
She narrowed her eyes and put a hand to her hip. “Sure.”  
  
It didn’t sound very convincing, but Dean couldn’t stop to make it better. He was hoping there already hadn’t been another killing, that there was enough time to find out if their spirit was Jacob Turner.  
  
He barely had the Impala in park before he was pushing the door open and sliding the key into the motel room lock. The lights were all blazing and Sam was slumped over his computer, elbow leaning on the table, his chin cupped in the palm of his hand.  
  
“I think I got it,” Dean said with a brilliant smile. “We’re dealing with a _Monster House_.”  
  
“A what?” Sam asked, his eyes unfocused. Every part of his body was saying 'sleep', but instead he was pushing himself to crack the case. Dean was glad they finally had something to go on.  
  
“Dude, did you get any rest?” It was instinctual to move toward Sam, to see if he was sick.  
  
Sam smacked Dean’s hand away from his face. “What are you talking about? _What_ kind of house?”  
  
“I think this town had their own Nebbercracker. Well, sort of a Nebbercracker, or maybe not. The house was the thing possessed, Nebber....”  
  
“Dean! What’s a Nebbercracker.”  
  
“Not a what, a who. _Monster House_. The movie.” At Sam’s continued blank stare, Dean threw up his arms in frustration. “Dude, we watched it on TV, like, a few months ago. Little kid has a mean old neighbor who didn’t like it when you walked on his grass.”  
  
“Whatever, Dean, just tell me what the hell you found out.”  
  
It wasn’t unusual for his brother to get frustrated with him, to bitch about Dean taking too long to get to the point, but something was off.  
  
“Seriously, are you feeling okay?”  
  
“Yes. Get the fuck on with it already.”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“Dean! Just… I’m okay, just tell me what you found out. Please.”  
  
Dean swiped his hand down his chin. He didn’t like this. If there was something wrong with Sam, he needed to know about it. But he also hated the fact that five more people had died since they hit town and there was about to be sixth – if there wasn’t already – if they didn’t get their asses moving.  
  
“Was there a Jacob or Jake Turner on your obit list?”  
  
Sam frowned as he reached for his notes and flipped through them. “No. Should there have been?”  
  
“I just raised a glass in honor of the man with an old friend of his. Said he was a cranky assed bastard. Lost his wife and kids when he was young, retreated into his house and only came out to go to work or threaten people with a shotgun for daring to come on his property.”  
  
Sam started hitting keys on his laptop, got onto the website of the local paper and quickly found a small obituary notice as Dean bent to look over his brother’s shoulder. The man died two weeks ago, a few days before the killings started.  
  
“Fuck, how did I miss him?” Sam said softly.  
  
The notice had the man’s name, date of death, listed the names of his deceased wife and three children. There was no other information, not even if there had been a funeral or memorial service. Sam never missed stuff like this, not something so basic and simple. Dean felt like an idiot for not having realized something was going on with his little brother.  
  
“Think you can find his house?” Dean asked quietly.  
  
“Yeah. Sure.” As soon as Sam started pounding on his laptop again, Dean went for their bag, making sure they had whatever they might need.  
  
It didn’t take long to get to the house and find Turner. He was a nasty fucker and also a revenant, which took them a while to figure out. They managed to cut off his head and salted and burned him for good measure. Once they made it back to the room, Dean told Sam to take first shower in order to clean off the blood and gore.  
  
As soon as he heard the water, Dean was into Sam’s duffel. There were some energy bars and drinks, a shit load of peppermint gum, and a blister packet of some kind of pills and he would’ve laid money down they held some kind of caffeine. Now that he thought over the past few weeks, he’d hardly seen Sam without a cup of coffee in hands when they were in their room for any amount of time over fifteen minutes.  
  
He threw the bag to the floor and sank onto the bed. “Dammit.”  
  
His forearms were resting on his thighs, head hanging low, the still-open duffel between his feet when Sam came out of the bathroom.  
  
“Dean –” He sounded guilty and sorry and there was nothing that Dean would like more than to absolve his brother of everything. To say it didn’t matter. To fix it. The truth was, Sam made a mistake, a big one, most likely because he hadn’t been sleeping. Dean was just thankful it hadn’t been a fatal one to Sam or himself.   
  
“Dreams again?” Dean couldn’t even raise his head. Didn’t want to see.  
  
“I –”  
  
This time when Sam stopped, Dean looked up and he could see the pain and remorse, the fear and confusion. He wished like hell Sammy never had a cause to feel any of those things. Only problem was, now more than ever, Sam did. They were smack in the middle of a shitstorm, first Dad’s death, then all the crap about saving Sammy or killing him, and then the fucked up mess with Madison. Hell, Sam had even got tested on his own faith, which was something Dean had been oblivious to as well.  
  
“Sammy, you gotta sleep. You can’t go on like this.”  
  
His brother closed his eyes, swallowed and clenched his hands into fists. A breath, then two, and two more after that before he looked at Dean. “Go take a shower.”  
  
“Sam.”  
  
“You’re a mess and at least give me the dignity of having this conversation while wearing something more than a towel.”  
  
Dean ground his back teeth trying to hold everything in. Finally, he gave a nod and went into the bathroom. He was quick, not wanting to leave his brother alone too long. He was afraid, he knew Sammy was, too, and Dean was damn sick of it. It never used to be this bad and it was pissing him off.  
  
Once back in the room and in fresh clothes, he sat on the bed opposite Sam, a plan formulated.   
  
Dean tried to keep his voice even, no accusation, not even a hint of anger. “We can’t make mistakes like that anymore, Sam.”  
  
“I know. I fucked up by missing his name. We should’ve had him three days ago at the very least. It won’t happen again.”  
  
“We’ll sleep in shifts. When you’re asleep, I’ll watch over you, be there to wake you up if you have any dreams.”  
  
“No!”  
  
Dean forged on as if he hadn’t heard Sam. “I can sleep whenever, wherever, but not until you’ve had at least five hours straight. I know that’s the minimum you need to function.”  
  
“I don’t need –”  
  
“Yes, you do!” Dean shouted, standing. “Dammit, Sam, let me do my job!”  
  
“What? Looking after me? Saving me?” Sam stood as well and Dean suspected it was so that he had to look up to give his brother a glare.  
  
They were at an impasse for Dean didn’t even know how fucking long, staring each other down, neither giving an inch. Dean knew it was dirty, didn’t want to play this card, but it was the only one he had left.  
  
“I won’t fucking lose you, too, Sam. Not when you’re all I have left. Not on my watch.”  
  
Sam was fighting tears and Dean was sorry for that, he was, but he couldn’t back down. No way. “Please, Sammy.”  
  
Sam shook his head and turned away, his voice shredded when he said, “I can’t, Dean. I go to sleep and… you don’t know what it’s like. Imagine the worst you can and then multiply that by a hundred.”  
  
“So… what? You just going to stay awake for the rest of your fuckin’ life? Which might be only a month or two at the rate you’re going. And don’t you _ever_ fucking believe _that’s_ for the best.” Sam was ignoring him, or maybe trying to pull himself together. Dean didn't know or care. Whatever was going on was getting fixed tonight. “You hear me?”  
  
“Dean.”  
  
God, the kid knew how to break his heart into a million pieces just by saying his name.  
  
“Let me do this for you, Sam. I _will_ stay awake. You're not in this alone, you never were and I don't even know why you even thought that might be the case. But I'm here, Sammy. I got your back. And you know what a stubborn asshole I am, especially when it comes to proving you wrong.”  
  
Sam gave a little huff of laughter and Dean felt the squeeze in his chest lessen just a tiny bit. His brother finally turned, admitted, “I don’t know if I _can_ sleep.”  
  
“Look, we’ll put on some crap TV, make the room all dark, hell, I’ll fucking sing you a lullaby.”  
  
He got a full on snort with that one and he couldn’t stop the smile as he retorted, “What? I have a great voice, I get complimented on it all the time.”  
  
“Yeah, maybe from chicks who are more impressed by your sexual prowess than any talent you have for carrying a tune.”  
  
Dean gave a filthy chuckle before pointing at his brother. “I am so gonna remind you that you said I have sexual prowess.”  
  
Sam rolled his eyes before falling onto the bed with a groan. “I guess I do feel kinda tired.”  
  
“Good,” Dean said smugly as he settled onto his own bed, his back against the headboard, ankles crossed. He grabbed the remote and waved it at his brother with an arched brow.  
  
“Don’t put on anything boring. You need to stay awake,” Sam muttered, rolling onto his stomach, his favorite sleeping position.  
  
Dean watched the last hour of _Die Hard_ and was well into the first half of _Terminator_ when Sam had finally stopped tossing and turning and begun to snore softly. Dean felt himself relax for the first time in almost eight hours. He was tired, but he had a promise to keep and this was one of the easier ones he’d given in a while, so he got up to grab one of Sam’s energy drinks.  
  
He’d kept the sound down low on the TV and it wasn’t difficult to hear the rustle of the bed next to his as Sam moved just as the skeletal Terminator was crawling through the hydraulic press to try to get Sarah. Flicking on the bedside light, Dean watched his brother, tense and alert, ready to jump into action if needed.  
  
It was another few moments before Sam twitched again and Dean wasn’t taking chances. He was out of the bed and reaching for his brother in an instant. He shook him awake and Sam blinked a few times, before looking at him with confusion.  
  
“Thought you might be having a dream,” Dean said quietly.  
  
“I…” Sam scrunched up his face, head falling back to his pillow as he gave a little groan. “I think I was, but I can’t remember it.”  
  
“Glad to hear that,” Dean murmured as he reached over and snapped off the lamp. Without thinking, he started running his fingers up and down Sam’s back, scratching lightly.  
  
Sam smashed his face into the pillow so that it distorted his mouth and muffled his voice. “You used to do that when I was little. When I was sick.”  
  
Dean quickly pulled his hand away. “Sorry.”  
  
“No. It’s… It feels… It’s a good memory, Dean.”  
  
Dean sat on the edge of the bed and continued to scritch-scratch against his brother’s back, getting lost in the rhythm of it.  
  
“Dude, are you humming me a lullaby?” Sam’s voice was relaxed and had that giddy, right before sleep quality to it.  
  
He hadn’t even realized he’d been doing just that. “I guess.”  
  
“It’s a Beatles song, Dean.”  
  
“ _Hey Jude_ is an awesome lullaby.”  
  
Sam chuckled, burrowed deeper into his pillow. “M’kay. If you say so.”  
  
“I do,” Dean said softly before commencing the song, feeing the vise in his chest lessening its hold even more. They were going to make it through this. As a family. Like they were supposed to.  
  
  
~fin~ 


End file.
